The cold truth settles over me like a shroud. This is it. Even if I survive whatever he's about to do, the girl who walked into this apartment will never walk out. Something inside me will die on Marina's bed, and no amount of Lorenzo's protection can bring it back.
My mother's voice echoes in my memory: "Stay free, baby. Promise me."
I failed her. Failed myself. Failed?—
"Hey, bastard!"
Marina stands in the doorway, holding her stomach, Daniil's gun shaking in her hands.
The gunshot is deafening in the small room. The bullet punches through the wall inches from Daniil's head above the bed, sending plaster dust raining down.
He releases my throat, twisting toward her. "Stupid girl."
My hand flies under the bed, fingers scrambling across dusty hardwood. Where is it? Where?—
Marina tries to steady the gun for another shot, but she's swaying on her feet, eyes unfocused. Daniil moves faster than someone his size should, crossing the room in two strides.
"No!" I rasp, my bruised throat barely producing sound.
He rips the gun from Marina's grip and brings the barrel down hard against her temple. The crack echoes through the room. She crumples like a marionette with cut strings, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
My fingers keep searching desperately under the bed. This angle I've positioned myself now, is perfect because I look like I'm sliding down and he doesn't look to care about where my hand lays. Come on, come on?—
Daniil turns back to me, setting the gun next to him on the bed. Too far for me to reach, close enough for him to grab if needed.
"Where were we?" His hands move to his belt.
His belt hits the floor. The sound of his zipper follows.
I close my eyes, not wanting to see what comes next. My mother's face fills the darkness behind my eyelids.
I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry.
The bed dips as he climbs back on. His hand finds my throat again, not squeezing yet, just holding. A promise of violence if I resist.
I start searching again. My fingertips brush something cold. Metal. The knife handle is just out of reach, pushed too far back when it fell. I stretch, shoulder burning with the effort, trying to keep my face neutral as my fingers walk across the floor beneath the bed.
My fingers close around the knife handle.
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me. It starts small, just a tremor in my chest, then grows into something wild and unhinged.
Daniil pulls back slightly, his grip loosening. "What's so funny, bitch?"
I open my eyes, meeting his confused gaze. "You want to know what's funny?"
My hand comes up fast, the blade catching the light for just a moment before I drive it forward with every ounce of strength I have left.
The knife sinks deep into his groin.
Daniil's scream tears through the apartment, inhuman and raw. He launches himself backward, hands flying to the wound. Blood pours between his fingers, so much blood, staining Marina's white sheets crimson.
The gun. I need the gun.
I roll toward it, hand stretching for the weapon.
"You fucking bitch!" His voice breaks on the words.
I'm inches from the gun when his bloody hand closes around my throat. He slams me back against the mattress, his full weight behind it. Both hands wrap around my neck now, slippery with his blood, squeezing with murderous intent.
